Fix You
by TheShantorian
Summary: He glanced at the girl again. Her face was contorted into an expression of pain. Her hands were clasped into fists, resting against his chest. She was mostly still, but he could feel her shaking slightly in his arms. He would fix this, he thought, setting his jaw in a hard line. I will fix this.
1. Prologue

**Note**: This story is AU, and all characters are human.

_Prologue_

The room reeked of body odor and stale sweat: the only fruits of his labour. Papers were strewn across the floor and piled high on the sole table in the office. The frail-looking desk held up a computer, a television, and a pair of wire rimmed glasses with golden lenses. His floppy, red fedora leaned precariously off the edge of a pile of books beside him.

His red coat was draped across the back of his old, grey office chair, his eyes cast downwards on the shadows littering the room. The lights were off, and the only source of brightness came from the slit under the door, leading to the sixth storey of his workplace.

He leaned back into the creaky desk chair, the piece of furniture bending drastically under the pressure of his body.

_Useless, cheap, piece of plastic crap_, he thought, absently grabbing the small remote from under the stack of paperwork on the table beside him. He powered on the small, out of date television to his right, slightly illuminating the darkened office room.

He kicked off his boots, and propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, leaning further back into the already contorted chair. He sighed, blowing strands of his hair out of his eyes, and turned his attention to the flickering screen of his T.V.

He began flipping through channels, skimming past infomercials and reality shows, but nothing really struck him as interesting. _It's been a while since anything worth watching has been on,_ he thought, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. Eventually, he stopped on a channel airing a live newscast.

"-been found bleeding outside of the two-storey home on 5th Street. The owner of the home, a supposed member of the elusive Iscariot gang, fled the scene after the bodies of the four children were discovered. Now, onto Natalie Parker, live at the scene-"

The newscaster's tale was cut short by the door to his office being slammed open. The room was instantly flooded with the yellow lights of the main hallway outside. He groaned audibly and used his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" he asked, lazily pulling his feet off of his desk. He rubbed his eyes as the office, now fully lit, came into focus.

His boss, with her long, white-blond hair, glasses, and stern gaze, glowered at him from the doorway. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, clearly unimpressed with his behavior. He didn't care what she thought, he told himself. That thought kept him from going insane from working in a place like this.

"Well, I was watching a newscast about the murders of some unfortunate little children, until I was rudely interrupted," he said, shooting his boss a piercing look between the parted fingers of his hand.

She scowled. "I thought you were more attentive than this," she said, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind her. "I want you head out to the scene of that homicide tonight. I heard that the police were interfering, again."

He dropped his arm. "Which homicide?" he asked.

She furrowed her brow and took two large strides towards where he sat. "You know very well which homicide I'm referring to."

He groaned again, swivelling the chair so that his back was to her. He didn't need this right now. He was tired, a little bored, and just wanted to head home and sleep, and maybe have a glass of his favorite red wine. He was beginning to like the sound of that idea the more he let it roll around in his desensitized mind.

"The police aren't my problem," he said, pulling his boots back on, "Why can't you just send Walter?"

"The police aren't your problem, you're right, but Anderson is," she said, leaning against his desk.

He swivelled the chair back around, his eyes narrowed in question. "Are you sure it's him?" he asked.

"No, I'm not. But, it's not my job to be sure. That's yours, to head out, and fill me in on what's going on out there," his boss said, glancing over the state of his office. She looked thoroughly unimpressed.

He wanted to see Anderson. He needed to. But, something was holding him back.

"But it's Friday," he said. That was the only thing that he could come up with to keep himself from having to go out. He had a very bad feeling about heading out tonight. Something about the job, Anderson, and him, just didn't fit. He didn't want to go, but for the first time in ages, laziness wasn't the reason why.

She rolled her eyes, put her hands on her hips, and refocused her intent gaze on him. "You'll get next week off, including the weekend."

He paused momentarily.

"You've got a deal," he said, slowly rising from his chair. He made a strangled, pained noise as he overdramatically stretched his arms above his head, attempting to loosen the constricted muscles contained within. He reached forward and pulled his coat off the back of his chair.

"That's what I thought you'd say," she said, straightening her position. "Just remember, if you screw up, you'll be working overtime for the rest of the month," she said, turning to leave his office, "Oh, and one last thing?"

He turned to her as he slid on his, long, red coat, and raised an eyebrow in an expression of questioning.

"Don't leave unarmed."

He laughed, "Come on, Integra," he said, slipping on his hat and glasses, "As if I'd leave this hellhole alone."


	2. Chapter 1: Close Encounters

_Chapter 1: Close Encounters_

"Seras, you take a group of three men around back. We need photos of the evidence. Jack, when she returns with her group, I want you to take another group of three inside and find any clues you can about the criminal's whereabouts."

Following my father's orders, I instructed the three closest officers to follow me to the back of the suburban, two-storey dwelling in downtown Toronto. The home itself was average looking, with red bricks, a single door, and a neatly trimmed lawn. Other than the police tape surrounding the area, and the few, slightly larger-than-average groups of spectators, it appeared no different than the other homes on the street. It felt like any other night, with the crisp air of early spring, and the soft chirping of the crickets, hidden in the nearby shrubbery.

At the back of the house, my team and I were greeted with the stench of blood, still fresh and sharp in the air. The backyard of the home consisted of a set of garden chairs, now stacked at one corner of the area, a small fruit tree planted right at the back of the yard, and the now cordoned off section where the four, small bodies of the victims lay.

I'd never been very good around scenes like this, which was odd for someone who was a member of the murder investigations branch of the police department. I had trouble raising my gun at anything, and often times, when my team needed me to subdue a criminal on the run, I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. Something about the way the guilty patron acted just didn't allow me to shoot. I couldn't do it. It was a bad habit I needed to grow out of soon, or being a member of this particular police squad would be next to impossible.

I asked one of the three men on my team to begin photographing the area, while the other two skimmed the scene for any leftover evidence or clues. I remained by the gate to the backyard, my gun raised out in front of me, prepared to shoot. Despite that fact, I knew that if the need did arise, I would probably never _actually_ shoot anyone.

Minutes went by, and eventually, my team finished up with our duties. We grouped together and made our way back to the front of the house.

When we met up with the rest of our unit, I immediately noticed that something was off. Jack's group stood anxiously in front of the house's front door, waiting to head inside. The rest of the squad was spread out in pairs or groups of three, seemingly standing around doing nothing, which was highly unusual for a busy group like us. My father was nowhere to be seen.

I rushed up the front steps and to Jack's side. He smiled as I approached him, saying, "Hey there, kitten."

I was growing more confused by the second. Anxiously furrowing my brow, I asked, "Where did my dad go?"

Jack's eyes scanned the area, looking above and around me, but never at me. After he seemed satisfied with what he saw, he directed his attention to me. "He's talking to that dude over there," he said, pointing across the street where my dad, in his chief officer uniform, was speaking to a man clad in a long, red, coat and an equally rouge fedora.

"Who is that?" I asked, thinking aloud.

Jack just shook his head. "I don't know. None of us know. He just showed up a few minutes ago and demanded to speak to whoever was in charge. If he's one of those feds…" Jack trailed off.

Recently, we'd been getting into trouble with the government. I know, that's rather ironic for the police, but for some reason, the federal government continuously sent people to make sure that we accomplished nothing involving recent murders or rapes, specifically any sort of gang related incidents. It was like we were being told not to do our job by the very people who employed us. It didn't make sense, but since we were powerless to the government, we had no choice but to follow.

Another minute went by, and my dad continued to speak to the man in red. From across the street, the man appeared to be standing almost completely still, with only the wind slightly skewing his dark hair and drape-like coat, whereas my dad spoke in very animated movements, with his arms waving and his head shaking every few statements. As I watched their conversation progress, I began to approach my father and his visitor.

Nearing the pair of men, I asked, "What's going on?"

I stopped at my father's side and turned to look up at the man in red in front of us.

He was tall, over six feet, wearing a simple black suit under his red coat. His hair was choppy and black, cut to fall just above his shoulders and below his ears. His eyes were covered by a pair of glasses with golden-red coloured lenses, completely shrouding his eyes. From my angle, he appeared to be menacing and downright creepy. I gulped without thinking, and averted my eyes from the strange man.

"This," said my dad, turning to me, "is Alucard. He's a representative from the Hellsing Organization."

I blinked at him. "Hellsing? You mean…" my voice trailed off as I caught sight of the man again. He had a strange look on his face. He looked prideful and almost happy to standing where he was. Something about him seemed off, and I disliked standing so near to him.

My dad finished my sentence for me. "Yes, the federal government. Apparently, according to their protocols, we don't have permission to investigate this case any longer, so, we've gotta leave. Now."

I scowled, but didn't say anything. On the inside, I wanted to throttle the man in red, Alucard, and to tell him that the government could go stick their stupid protocols up their asses, but as a member of the police force, it was my duty to protect the city by direction of the government. So, naturally, I did as I was told.

"Your cooperation is greatly appreciated," the man said. His voice was gritty, almost like a growl, and if I wasn't mistaken, I could swear that he'd said that statement with a lot of sarcasm.

With that, my dad and I turned to leave. From our position across the street, my dad radioed Jack and told him to have the men withdraw. He ordered everyone to head back to the station for a quick meeting to review protocols once more. Sighing, I followed my dad back towards our team.

Just as we stepped off the curb, a shadow flickered to my right. I only just saw it out of the corner of my eye, a small twitch of movement that was barely noticeable. I stopped walking and turned to see what had caused the disturbance.

Standing just off the curb, I panned my eyes over the area, looking for something out of place. Seeing nothing that alarmed me, I turned back to my dad, and screamed.

A man, with short blond hair, glasses, and a stark white suit, had managed to restrain my dad. I watched as the man shifted his position to reveal that he had a knife held to my father's throat. The look in the newcomer's eyes said that if we made a move, my dad would die.

Instantly, the street plunged into chaos.

The police squad radioed in for back up, the bystanders of the scene dispersed in rushes of bodies, and the man, Alucard, raised a gun in the direction of my dad and his captor.

I stood, frozen in place by fear, shock, and confusion. My gun remained trained on Alucard for reasons unknown, as I watched the rest of the scene play out in front of me, as if I was outside my body, watching from above. I felt disconnected from the scene, and I could make myself to nothing more than shake and stare ahead.

Alucard's gun, a large, sliver weapon with delicate engravings along the barrel, was pointed at the head of the man holding my father hostage. I could see Alucard's lips moving, but I couldn't hear a sound. The usual noises of the night were drowned out by a large, rushing sound. After a moment, I realized that I was hearing my own blood flowing in my ears.

I didn't know what I wanted to have happen next; I just I wanted this to end.

Alucard released the safety on the gun, and as he pulled the trigger, a citizen, panicked and lost, slammed into the larger man, knocking him off balance.

I watched, horrified, as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. Terrified screams immediately responded, followed by the dull _thud_ of a body hitting to pavement. The man holding my father had fled by this point.

Alucard had missed his target, and instead, had shot my father in the chest.

I felt the gun slip from my fingers, clattering against the road. I sensed a pair of eyes turn their attention to me in response, most likely Alucard's, but I didn't even glance at him.

In a daze, I felt myself shuffling forward, towards my dad. I felt wetness on my face and an ache in my chest. I immediately thought it was raining, but I realized that the moisture was tears, and the heaviness weighing me down was pain.

I kept hearing laughter echoing through my skull. It was familiar, but hollow and distorted. I felt myself glancing from left to right, looking for the source. Only after I'd neared my daddy did I realize that I was hearing a memory of his laughter.

I dropped to my knees in front of my father's corpse, searching his neck for a pulse I knew I wouldn't find. My own pulse thundered loudly in my ears, so loud that I was certain everyone in the area could hear it. I felt numbness flow through my limbs, replacing the blood in my veins. As I reached out and placed a hand on my father's rapidly paling cheek, the world suddenly went out of focus with tears. I watched as a few droplets landed on my father's forehead, mixing with the blotches of blood that stained his otherwise peaceful face.

"Daddy…" I said, a sob forcing its way out of my chest, "Daddy, it's me. Wake up."

I couldn't hold myself together after that. I felt all of the walls I'd learned to keep up, the ones that made investigating a murder a little easier to bear, come crashing down in the form of painful, racking sobs. I buried my face in my father's bloodied chest, holding him close, wanting him to move and tell me that he'd be fine, that it was just a scratch.

But I knew that it would never happen.

"Kid," I heard someone say in a deep, throaty voice.

Alucard.

I tore my eyes away from my father and onto the face of the man who'd done this to him. His glasses were no longer obscuring his eyes, revealing their poisonous red colour, like his coat. I could see the regret and anger the man felt in them, the distaste he felt for his actions. He looked pained, yet as if he was denial, like he refused to accept what he'd done.

"I meant to save him, not hurt him," he said, crouching down my level. Instantly, I began to panic.

The shock, the anger, and the confusion, all came tumbling out of me.

"No," I said, dropping my father's corpse against the asphalt, "Get away from me." I scrambled backwards, trying to get away from the man in red.

I felt bad about leaving my dad there, all alone on the pavement. But, if he, Alucard, killed my father, would he try to kill me, too? A part of me knew he wouldn't try to harm me anymore than he already had, but a part of me was so afraid, so terrified of this man that I felt the need to flee immediately.

My father would've scolded me for acting like that, after spending hours going over basic first aid and minor medical training with me. He would've wanted me to calmly think about his injury, whether or not treatment was possible or necessary, and then move on. He would never want me to hold onto something that's already happened. But this, this was uncalled for. He never told me what to do if he was the one who'd gotten hurt. He never told me how to fix the giant ache in my chest, or how to subdue the scream-like sobs that came with losing someone you loved.

_Daddy, I need you. Where are you now?_ I thought.

I heard Alucard sigh impatiently. "Kid, hey," he said, standing up again. Seeing him tower above me, the light of the streetlamps causing his eyes to glow a fiery red, I felt more fear pool in the pit of my stomach. "Would you relax?" he said, taking a step towards me.

I didn't want anything to do with this man. He'd broken my father beyond repair, taken my only family from me, turned me away from doing my job, and now he wanted me to _relax?_ Yes, he worked for the feds, and he did have some control over my job, but that didn't mean he could control how I felt. He killed my father for crying out loud.

I could hear my father's disapproving voice, telling me off for being so rude to a man who had ultimately saved the rest of my team. I could hear him telling me about the sacrifices that would have eventually had to be made, by him, or other members of the force. He'd told me that people would be hurt. He just never said that that person might be him.

"No," I said, panic rising in my voice, "Don't touch me!" I got up, my vision blurring again, but this time, tears weren't the reason why. Stumbling over my own feet, I tried to run in the opposite direction of the man. Alucard grunted and grabbed a hold of my arm, pulling me towards him. "Get away from me!"

"Daddy! Daddy, help me!" I screeched. "Daddy, come back! Daddy!"

He held me firmly by my wrists as I struggled against his strong grip, feebly attempting to free myself while yelling exactly how I felt about this man as loud as I could. I shouted, I screamed, and I cried for my father to save me, futilely trying to make my voice heard over the thundering of my blood and the clamor of the street.

My frantic cries mixed with his murmurs, his attempts to calm me down, but I completely disregarded him.

"Daddy," I whispered, as my consciousness began to fade, "I love you."

I felt my head become light, my eyelids become droopy, and as the police squad finally noticed what was happening to me, I watched, my eyes half open with shock, as concern filled Alucard's eyes, and the world around me faded into a thick, murky blackness, while my father's voice beckoned me to come to him.

* * *

_**Alucard**_

The police girl fainted, slumping into his arms. He lurched forward and caught her thin body. She was so frail, so light, he noticed. He couldn't help thinking that she shouldn't be working a job like the one she was. But, this one was a daddy's girl. She'd do whatever her dad said until the very end. Hell, she probably would've let herself die for him.

Alucard scoffed at the thought. He'd never understood that about people. He'd never understood why people would willingly give up their own goddamn life for another human being. It was common sense to save your own skin in times of danger, not jump straight into the line of fire for them. People could be so stupid sometimes, but then again, so could he.

As he cradled the girl's body in his arms, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: guilt.

It clawed at him, struggling past his façades of calmness and quiet. It surged something within him, something powerful, something he'd spent years trying to get rid of. Anger and distaste for himself resurfaced, making him want to hand the girl over to her team and head to the nearest bar for a drink. He felt his limbs grow heavy, the weight of his actions crushing him.

_Crap_, he thought. Integra would never let him hear the end of this. _Hell_, he thought, _maybe I'll finally get fired, and leave this godforsaken job for good_.

Though he thought that, he knew he didn't mean it. Integra meant a lot to him. She was the reason that he'd broken his chronic drinking and taken up tasteful wine tasting instead. She changed him, but this, he thought, looking down at the face of the girl in his arms, this had changed him, too. This had changed him into something he didn't want to be.

Not only had he ruined another person's life, he'd also let Anderson get away, again. He'd sworn, after the last time he'd encountered that piece of Iscariot shit, to kill Anderson with a bullet from his gun. He needed Anderson dead. That man had done too much wrong in his life, and needed to be sent straight home to Hell.

He approached the girl's team, and told them that he'd take care of her from here. The team didn't object; they couldn't. One member, a young boy, probably no older than the girl, neared him, his eyes filled with a deep sadness, and something else, something Alucard knew he often expressed in his own eyes.

Anger.

"We'll take the chief," the boy said, his voice cracking as he glanced at the girl, defeated and worn-out, in Alucard's arms.

"I'm sure that's what he'd want," he said, looking away from the police boy's torturous gaze.

The way he looked at the girl, the anger in his eyes, made Alucard think that the boy was close with the girl. Alucard realized that he needed to leave, or this police boy might send him to visit the girl's dad.

As he turned to leave, Alucard called out to the police boy. "She'll be fine," he said, "I promise."

The boy didn't say anything for a moment, but, before he turned away, he said, "She will _never _forgive you, so just do yourself a favour and stay away from her, and from us, from now on." With that, boy strode forward to meet up with his team.

They say there's strength in numbers, something Alucard never thought was true as a solo act. But, seeing the way the other police members consoled the boy, made his thoughts shift. They were many people that worked as a single unit, a greater whole. Alucard couldn't help but feel slightly guiltier about breaking that unity.

He scowled, turning towards the main road. The hospital was down the block, and the girl would get treated much faster if he brought her in himself.

As he walked down the sidewalks, passing confused onlookers and other pedestrians, Alucard repeatedly told himself that it wasn't his fault. It was an accident. He needed to hear that, he needed to know that that was true, in order for him to move on.

He glanced at the girl again. Her face was contorted into an expression of pain. Her hands were clasped into fists, resting against his chest. She was mostly still, but he could feel her shaking slightly in his arms.

He would fix this, he thought, setting his jaw in a hard line. _I will fix this._

* * *

**Author's Note: I would just like to let everyone know how grateful and surprised I was with the positive reception to the prologue of this story, so thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, or followed myself or this story. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I seriously try to use any and all feedback I receive to better myself as a writer, so reviews are particularly appreciated. I think that's all I've got to say. Just please be patient until I'm satisfied with the next chapter enough to upload it, and as always,**

**Thanks for reading.**

**-Shan**


	3. Chapter 2: Waking Up

_Chapter 2: Waking Up_

It was the voices that brought me back to the world.

There were two people speaking, a woman and a man. The woman was speaking in hushed tones, her voice calm and collected, yet slightly stern, like she was trying to soothe the other speaker by being firm with them. The man spoke with a growl-like purr, his voice throaty and harsh. His voice made him seem both worried and impatient, like he wanted answers, but wouldn't wait around to get them. He made it clear that he wouldn't be staying any longer than he needed to.

I pressed my eyelids together, hoping to keep the outside world at bay for just a moment longer. I longed to go back into the thick, sleepy darkness that was unconsciousness. I missed the soothing quiet, the calm nothingness. I missed the place where nothing existed, where there was no pain, no murder investigations, and where I could still believe that my father was alive. I just didn't want to deal with reality anymore, now that I had nobody left to endure it with.

The image of my father, bleeding, bent, and broken, came back to me in flashes of discolored images behind my eyelids, like snapshots from an old fashioned film. The images were grainy and out of focus, like my mind wouldn't let me remember them clearly, because my subconscious knew how much it hurt me to be reminded of his fate.

A part of me wanted to kill myself, to escape this mental torment, and to go visit my father in his new home. A part of me wanted to forgive the man, Alucard, for what he'd done. As much as I wanted to deny it, and blame him outright for killing my only family, the more rational and sensible part of me was telling me to let my feelings of anger go. I knew my father would've wanted me to do the latter. However, despite all of that, I couldn't help but feel the unmistakable pang of anger than scratched and clawed at the back of my mind, practically begging me to pour all of the blame on the Hellsing representative.

The voices of the two speakers rose in pitch, followed by the joltingly loud slam of a door. I realized that I could fight the inevitable no longer. It was time for me to wake up, and stop running from the past, just like my father would want me to.

Warily, I forced my heavy eyelids apart.

I was greeted by blinding, white, fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling above me. I blinked, attempting to allow my eyes to adjust. As my I became familiar with the glowing whiteness, I groggily rolled my head to the left.

Doing so was a poor choice. My head was thick and felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Every movement felt like it was happening in slow motion, all delayed by invisible cords and wires, binding me into a single, unmoving pose that hurt to fight against.

Looking around the room, I realized that I was in a hospital, but that was to be expected since I'd passed out. I couldn't help but think of myself as weak for doing so. Against my will, I felt a few stray tears make their way down my cheeks, causing anger and embarrassment to flare within me. I was stronger than this, and crying about something I had no control over after it had happened caused me to resent myself significantly. I felt ashamed, and all around useless. My father had been injured and the only thing I was able to do was panic and faint. Now, when my father would want me to be my strongest and move on with my life, I'd only been able to get hurt and cry about it.

Nice going, Seras.

Internally scolding myself, I took bearings of my hospital room.

Everything was a brilliant white, from the walls to the curtains, to the bed sheets tucked neatly around my small body.

There were various devices attached to me by electrodes and needles, like an IV, and what appeared to be a heart rate monitor. The methodic beeping of the devices was almost numbing enough to pull me back into a much desired slumber, but I knew that though I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to slip back into my mind's void.

The faint smell of linen, body odor, and flowers lingered in the air, with the light, yet sharp, scents of cleaning products and rubbing alcohol lacing the room.

The only thing that seemed remotely out place was the blood-red patch of fabric that was seated in a chair to my right.

It was Alucard, that man from the government.

He sat, hunched over, his head in his hands, like a defeated boy. His hat and golden glasses rested on the small table beside my hospital bed, right next to a small vase of flowers. He was still clad in a black suit and his startlingly red coat. His hair was disheveled and shaggy, covering his face and fingers. Though he appeared to be broken and very saddened looking, there was something about the way his body was held, the way his fingers were clenched, that made me feel as though he was…

Annoyed?

I furrowed my brow in confusion.

How could he possibly be _annoyed_? He killed my father! Though I do blame him extensively, I do realize that he hadn't done it intentionally, but that didn't give him any reason to be _annoyed_. Even if it wasn't intentional, he'd killed a man that didn't need to be killed. That must have taken a toll on him in some way, right? He was human, so he must have felt something for doing what he'd done. I couldn't be the only one internally tormented by what had happened.

I realized that I couldn't just lie down and stare at the man beside me indefinitely. Seeing as my neck was beginning to cramp from the uncomfortable position, I made an attempt to sit up.

Aligning my head with my body once again, I slowly used my arms to push myself up. The movement was erratic, but slow, like I was moving through molasses. The sudden change in elevation sent a wave of dizziness and mild throbbing through my head. Without meaning to, I groaned and placed a shaky hand on my head.

My sudden outburst seemed to have shocked Alucard out of his daze. The man wrenched his head out of his hands, and stared at me. His face appeared placid and calm, like he'd expected me to do what I just did. His eyes, however, were wild. They were filled with anger, impatience, and what appeared to be a hunger for something unknown. Maybe he just really wanted to get out of this hospital. Maybe it was something else, but as for what actually created that strange look in his eye, I didn't know.

After holding eye contact with him for far too long for it to be considered accidental, I asked, "Why are you here?"

_I'm such an idiot,_ I thought,_ Jesus, I am so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid_, I scolded myself.

I knew full well why he was here, yet I had to make it seem like I didn't want him to be here with my stupid questions (not that I _did_ want him to be here). There were so many other things I could've asked, like the identity of the woman who'd been in the room earlier, or how long I'd been out for. Ashamed, I looked away from him. I heard him make a _tch_ sound in response.

"It's not like I had a choice," he said, pulling the chair he was sitting on closer to my bedside. I could feel his eyes, red and unwavering, boring into the back of my head, studying me, analyzing me. "I brought you in, so I was expected to stay."

I turned my head back to him. He was so much closer than he was before. I could clearly see the lines of tiredness marking his otherwise handsome face (not that I was noticing anything like that about him). His eyes no longer appeared wild, but they were far from calm.

"What happened to my father?" I asked, breaking eye contact with him. My voice cracked inadvertently when I asked that. It must have been the thought of my father being given improper treatment for his death. The thought of my father's untreated body, lying crusted over in stale blood and dirt, in the morgue at the station, just broke my heart. I couldn't allow myself to believe that my team would be so heartless to their beloved chief. I told myself that my team had not mistreated my dad, and that he was receiving a burial fit for a man like him. In my heart, I knew I was right. My team was more than dependable. I had no reason to worry.

Instead of turning away from Alucard altogether, I turned my attention to his hands. His rough-looking, weathered hands were clasped together on the edge of my bed, the fingers tightly wound with each other. His face may have said he was doing all right, but his hands said that he was incredibly high strung.

"He was taken by your team," was all he said, his tone considerably lighter than it was before. I felt no less confused about the state of my father, but the unexpected shift in his voice startled me, and I raised my eyes back to his.

The emotion was gone. Alucard's eyes that were filled with so many different feelings only moments before appeared completely drained of humanity. His eyes were hollow, deadened, like he'd internally collapsed from the weight of something pushing him down. In the few moments that had passed between us, this man had broken. I wondered if it was the guilt of killing my father, but if that had been the case, I had a feeling that this man would have said something about it.

No, it was something else that had gotten to him. But what was it?

"What-" I started, wanting to ask and find out the reason for myself, but Alucard didn't allow me to speak. Instead, as if he knew where I was trying to direct this conversation, he changed the subject.

"How old are you?" he asked, moving his hands from off my bed to in his lap. He leaned back in his chair, a mixture of different emotions washing over his face.

Caught off guard by his seemingly random question, I simply answered. "I'm nineteen," I said.

Alucard, who now seemed outright annoyed and blatantly unhappy with being in the same room as me, put his hands behind his head, lounging into his chair. He seemed so uncaring that it was beginning to irritate me. I could understand his feelings from earlier, the melange of different sentiments in response to his mistake, but the… sudden disregard for everything was confusing and downright frustrating to me. Suddenly, all desire that I previously had to make amends and move on with this man dissipated. I wanted nothing to do with him as much as he wanted nothing to do with me.

As I glanced at the crimson figure seated beside me, a thought surfaced in my mind, one I just had to voice.

"Why?" I said, staring at Alucard.

"Excuse me?" he replied, lifting his head slightly to look at me.

"Why did you have to show up last night?"

"I think you mean three nights ago, kid."

"I was out that long?"

"Yep."

"You didn't answer my question."

He groaned and righted his position. "It's my job. I just did what I was told to."

"Were you told to shoot anyone you wanted to on sight?"

Alucard's expression darkened. I could tell I'd struck a mark with that statement. I felt a small amount of fear trickle into my veins, but something inside of me told me that he wouldn't even consider hurting me, for any reason. That feeling kept me strong enough to stare the larger man down.

"Listen, police girl," he said, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, "it was a _fucking_ _accident_. Okay? Did you get that? I thought you police rats would've been-"

He'd gone too far.

"Who are you calling a _rat?" _I exclaimed, my voice rising in volume. "If it weren't for you being there, my dad might still be alive!"

"I wouldn't have been there if you pieces of police _shit_ could just mind your own _fucking _business!"

"We were only doing our jobs!" I said. For some reason, my voice sounded like I was pleading with him.

"And I," he said, "was only doing mine." His voice had dropped from an enraged shout to a low growl. He paused for a few moments.

"I'm sorry about your dad," said Alucard. His voice was thick with repressed anger, and what sounded like guilt. "My boss said I needed to give you this."

With that, Alucard tossed a small paper square onto my bed, stood up, and left the room with the sound of the door being shut echoing in his wake.

I sat, slightly dumbfounded and slightly shocked for a few moments after he left. I felt partially hollow inside, like this dispute had caused something inside of me to stir, something I didn't like. It left me feeling nauseated and unnerved. I felt horrible, foul, but I couldn't discern why. The unmistakable sense of guilt made itself present, and I let it take over my body, filling my every pore, as I took stock of the memento Alucard had left me with.

It was a business card. On it was Alucard's name, phone number, and an address, for his office building, I assumed.

I clenched my fist around the card, feeling its sharp edges bite into my skin.

This wasn't going to be the last time I saw that man, I just knew it. But the next time I saw him, I would fix this… this mess between us, once and for all.

* * *

_**Alucard**_

_Damn it all_, he thought as he stormed out of the room. He didn't need this right now. What he did need was a glass of red wine, aged seven years; his favorite.

After sitting in that goddamn room for two days, she wakes up and does what?

She complains. He couldn't believe the audacity of that stupid, little _child._

Yeah, he'd fucked up pretty badly, but he'd saved her life, and the lives of the other members of her police force. Hadn't she ever heard of taking one for the team?

Sure, he hadn't gotten off easy making such a stupid mistake as missing his target (Integra had told him off enough about that earlier in the kid's room), but she could've at least taken into account the fact that he'd carried her all the way from the crime scene to the hospital.

And that _look_ she'd given him, after she asked about her father's whereabouts. The way she'd said it, the look on her face… That had been too much for him.

Who did she think she was? She's a _kid_, a little child playing a game made for grown-ups. She should've known the moment that she'd joined her force that people were going to get hurt. She should've known that things don't always turn out as expected. But, she didn't know, and it was her problem to face, not his.

_She said she was nineteen, right? Well she's more than old enough to take care of herself_, he told himself.

_She's practically an adult_, he thought, _if only she'd start acting like it._

* * *

**Note: Once again, thank you to everyone who's even batted an eye at this story. It means the world to me. I am incredibly surprised with the positive feedback I've been receiving. I took longer to update this story due to my need to over-edit things, not to mention the end of the year flood of school work I've been deluged with. Thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading.**

**-Shan**


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